


changing gears

by doofusface



Category: Spider-Man: Far From Home, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Best Friends, Exes, F/M, Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Heartache, Injury, Light Whump, Love, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: “I’m fine, dude,” Ned laughs—his signature laugh, all casual and toothy grin. “It’s been what…five years? Why would I not be fine?”[A Netty Pot fic.]





	changing gears

**Author's Note:**

> can i claim ownership of first mate of the netty pot ship now
> 
> i wrote this in a frenzy under influence of exhaustion so haaaa enjoy!!!! (havent done a final check bc im honestly too tired but ill do one soon probs heh)

“So…how was dinner?”

Ned’s been expecting it.

The fact that Peter waited longer than twenty hours made him all sappy, really, because the guy’s a superhero in and out of the suit.

Always thinking about other people.

Always a little more gentle than most.

“It was good,” Ned says. It’s even and it’s near-dull, which could be worse, all things considered.

But hey, he’ll chalk it up to knowing MJ for ten years. Because why not.

“Cool,” Peter says, pitch rising. “Coolcoolcool. Very cool.”

“I’m fine, dude,” Ned laughs—his signature laugh, all casual and toothy grin. “It’s been what…five years? Why would I not be fine?”

“I know you don’t like Brad.”

Ned raises a brow. “I _didn’t_. When we were in _high school._ ” He points at his computer screen. “He’s like, Spidey’s #1 fan. Flash still has to bribe him at events so he can say _he_ still is.”

“So if I said, I dunno,” Peter starts, kind pretense abandoned, “if I said, maybe, that MJ heard from Liz that Betty told  _her_ dad that _she_ was moving to Canada after ‘ _the wedding_ ’—”

“Betty’s not getting married.”

“But if, hypothetically—”

“Betty’s not getting married before she’s 28, that’s like, on her schedule,” Ned scoffs, rolling his eyes. “M knows that, she saw it when—”

_Ahem._

_When we were dating._

“—when we went to Philly the first time.”

_Squint._

“Stop copying your fiancée,” Ned says, pointing accusingly at his best friend. “It’s weird.”

Peter squints harder, pursing his lips. “You said it was cute, like, last weekend.”

“Yeah, and now it’s weird.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me an ‘it’?” MJ says, walking through the door with her sneakers in one hand and umbrella in the other. “Also: 1) someone stole your doormat, and b) we’re already technically married, Nedaniel—did you forget you took the pictures?”

“My family doesn’t count civil weddings,” Ned says, sticking out his tongue.

“You do, though.”

“Bleh.”

“Blah.”

Peter walks over to greet her with a peck on the cheek. “Ned’s salty about Betty dating Brad.”

“I am not,” Ned whines, throwing a crumpled ball of paper their way.

“He’s also in denial,” Peter adds.

“I’d ask a psych, but Liz’s rate is way too high,” MJ deadpans. “Oh well. You’ll have to suffer the old-fashioned way.”

“I hate both of you,” Ned says, pointedly swiveling his chair to face away.

“You can’t do that, that was non-negotiable on the Friendship Contract,” MJ says, grin wired to her tone. “I have Cindy on speed dial and she _will_ back me up on this.”

“It’s the _laaaaw_ ,” Peter drawls, annoyingly, because he’s that kind of friend now, and Ned would like to take back everything he’d said at the start of all this.

“Don’t you have to visit May and Happy, or something?” Ned mumbles, hunching over his keyboard.

He hears a  _plop_ behind him.

“Ned, Nedward, Nedaniel—my favorite dumbass,” MJ says, with an offended Peter plopping down next to her on the couch, “of course we do.”

Peter shakes his head, returning to himself. “But Morgan’s gonna kill me if I don’t bring you, dude.”

“Wait, _Morgoona’s_ gonna be there?!” Ned half-yells, spinning so fast his table rattles. “Start with that next time!”

“I see where we stand as friends, and I am surprisingly okay with it,” MJ monotones, nodding once. She stands, climbs over the back of the couch the way she knows Ned hates.

“Only because Morgie’s super cool,” Peter says pointedly, hopping to the ceiling and walking upside down towards the door.

Badly moonwalking as he goes.

Also the way Ned hates.

“I see your retaliation and I’ma be the bigger man here,” Ned says, jaw clenched.

(But only like, a teeny tiny bit.)

“Get dressed, dorko,” MJ calls back from the doorway, creaking the door open. “We’ll wait in the car.”

Peter pivots, flips back down to Normal Person Walking Stance and waves at Ned. “And bring one of your inventions!”

* * *

“She’s going to decimate that thing,” Happy says, watching his goddaughter fiddle with Ned’s newest watch…computer…thingy.

(He’s working on a name, okay?)

“She’s my harshest critic, she better,” Ned says, leaning forward in his seat, chin resting on his hands.

“Wiring’s better than the last one,” Morgan says, replacing the back panel. “Minimal, if any. Pretty cool. Hmm.” She presses the controls, opening the holographic menus. Swipe. “Excellent response time. Good UI—”

Ned raises a brow. “Just ‘good’?”

“Dad’s are unbeatable,” Morgan says, smirking only a little. “But this is in my Top 3.”

“Behind yours?”

“Duh.”

“What if I bribe you with a cheeseburger?”

“Mom taught me better morals, Uncle Ned,” Morgan says, raising a brow at him with that signature Tony Stark smirk.

Ned raises his hands in defense. “Just asking.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s the verdict, M2?” MJ says, leaning on the back of Ned’s seat. “Am I gonna have to ditch my husband and live with my soon-to-be billionaire best friend?”

(Peter, at the back, yells: “ _NOT IF I BEAT YOU THERE FIRST!_ ”)

Morgan hums again, squinting as she shuts off the device. “…I think Mom can show it to the execs. The build looks economic—I can see everyone with a decent job affording this.” She smiles up at Ned, tossing him the watch. “Congrats, Uncle Ned!”

“ _Hell_ yes!” Ned cheers, high-fiving MJ and Happy and crushing Morgan in a bear hug.

They all erupt into cheers, with May, Peter, and Pepper automatically heading to the fridge to start passing out drinks.

“Man, I gotta tell my parents,” Ned starts, eyes blown wide as he pulls out his phone, “—maybe Kuya Adi, Tita Nina  _for sure_ , Bet—” Pause.

(And the whole room pauses with him.)

“ _—_ _uhhh_ , you know what?” he chuckles, lightly, awkwardly, _painfully_ , “I think I’ll just save the phone calls for later. Ha. Ha _ha_.”

 _Ahem_. “…Drinks?” Happy says, voice only slightly rising.

Morgan raises her hand. “Can I—”

“ _No_ ,” everyone replies, echoing off the walls.

“—I tried, Dad,” she says, shrugging at the ceiling.

“I’m sure he’s proud of the attempt,” Pepper calls, walking into the living room with the first round of champagne. She hands her daughter a tall glass of apple cider. “You can pretend.”

Morgan juts her lips out, nodding. “Welp. Cheers?”

 _Clink_. “ _Cheers!_ ”

* * *

Ned’s going to pretend the bright light of his phone isn’t mocking him.

Isn’t the rudest thing he’s ever experienced in the history of ever.

Because not fourteen hours ago, he was getting approved for a sales pitch.

At Stark Industries.

For his invention.

“ _Ughhhh_ ,” he groans, dropping his head.

Okay, not entirely accurate.

 _Their_ invention.

Him.

And Betty.

The one they talked about when they were in senior year.

When they were still  _them_.

 _I should call her_ , he thinks, thumb hovering over her name.

 _She won’t mind_ , he continues, psyching himself up. _We didn’t fight. We just broke up. For college. Like a lot of people do._

He presses the button.

_Ring._

(A deep breath.)

_Ring._

(Another.)

_Ring._

(Panic? Is this a panic attack?)

_Ring._

( _Why_ is he _doing_ this?! She wouldn’t answer, she had enough interaction with him for the next twenty years at the company dinner, _it’s Saturday_ and she’s sleeping in, this is a bad idea, this is a _very bad ide_ _—_ )

“ _Hello?_ ”

(Crap.)

“… _Ned? Is this still your number?_ ”

“Yeah, hi, hey,” Ned says, and it’s not his fault it sounds a little like a broken sigh. “Hi, Bets.”

 _Laugh._ The softest he’s ever heard. “ _Haven’t heard that in a while._ ”

“Don’t you work with MJ and Peter?”

“ _Yeah, well, MJ’s the only one I really interact with on the clock, and she’s still sticking to initials._ ”

“You know, she calls Morgan M2.”

“ _Oh, yeah! Love that kid. Addicted to cheeseburgers._ ”

“Ha! Oh, wait—you interviewed her for that legacy piece last summer, right? Did you manage to bribe her?”

“ _I have my secrets, Ned Leeds,_ ” she says slyly, and this has officially become dangerous, and his heart rate is back up to _Way Too Fast_ , and he’s grinning like he’s sixteen on a science tour of Europe.

So, okay, it’s been five years.

And, _okay_ , it does matter.

Because she’s still the love of his life.

And now he isn’t hers.

Betty clears her throat, and Ned hopes it’s because she noticed, too. “ _So, um—what’s with the rando call?_ ”

“I—uh, well, see, Morgan—” Ned sputters, pacing around his apartment, “—I’ve been working on the, y’know, _The Watch_ —”

There’s something mixed in with surprise when she cuts in: “ _You have?_ ”

“Bets, it was always a great idea,” he says nonchalantly.

(Er. Sort of.)

“ _Oh._ ”

“You always have great ideas,” Ned continues, rolling his eyes at the empty room. “C’mon. MJ said you figured out how to navigate that one scandal interview with the mayor, and now he’s the _ex_ -mayor.”

“ _Oh, well, you know, it was a team effort…_ ” she mutters, and _that_.

That’s when he catches himself again.

He really is too open.

“But, um, the watch thing…” he coughs, pursing his lips, “…it’s gonna sell. Pepper’s waiting for me to give her my free day so she can set the appointment.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Betty says again, but with truer surprise. “ _Wait, so why did you call_ me _?_ ”

“It’s _our_ invention.” Pause. “ _Your_ idea. I just typed some stuff.”

“ _You built the thing, Ned. I think it’s fair to say it’s yours._ ”

“Doesn’t feel right to.”

“ _I just_ —” _Sigh._ “— _okay, well, I’m booked for the next two weeks_ —”

“I know, MJ’s on your team.”

“ _—right_ ,” Betty says, and there’s that old, fond laugh of hers sneaking through. “ _But the 23rd—Friday._ ”

“Friday. The 23rd.”

“ _Yeah. My evening’s free._ ”

(Ned doesn’t mean to do it, he swears, but—)  _Scoff_. “What about Brad?”

“ _Oh, I’m sure he’ll have a new girlfriend by then, don’t worry_ ,” Betty laughs, and—

“…Wh—wait, what?”

“… _I may have dumped him._ ”

“You went as his date to the dinner last week,” Ned deadpans.

 _And Peter said MJ said that Liz said that thing about a_ wedding—

“ _He’s nice now, don’t get me wrong_ ,” Betty says, derailing his train of thought. “ _But he wasn’t…_ ”

(Ned is hyper-aware of everything and nothing and wants to scream and shut up and die and live again.)

“…right,” Betty finishes, like she’s convincing herself. “ _Y’know?_ ”

_I know._

“I know.”

_Is that good?_

“ _That’s good._ ” A pause, and it makes him think of how she chews the inside of her cheek. “… _That’s good, that, you, uh, that you know_.”

And listen, he knows Betty.

Or, he knows how she was—before, at eighteen—and knows a little about how she is—now, at twenty-five—and all the information is pretty constant on one thing:

Elizabeth “Betty” Brant, the Daily Bugle’s top investigative reporter, _does not stammer_.

Except when she feels guilty.

“…Hey, we’re, like, cool, right?” Ned says when the beat turned into three, then five, then ten. “We’re still friends?”

 _Exhale_. “ _Oh, thank goodness. Yes. Of course. Always a yes, Ned._ ”

“We’re cool, Bets. Promise.”

“ _I don’t know why—I mean, we haven’t talked in so long, and it felt like—_ ”

“—riding a bike.”

“ _Yeah._ ”

“Sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t wanna talk to you at the dinner,” Ned says, scrunching up his face. “Like, _super-duper_ sorry. _Spidey_ -sorry.”

 _Laugh_ , all the way from her belly. (Crap. He misses that laugh.) “ _That’s a pretty big sorry._ Almost Broke the Statue of Liberty _-sorry_ ,” she snickers, and yeah, _yeah_ , Peter’s gonna side-eye him when he finds out about this conversation, but:

“More like, _Almost Destroyed the London Bridge_ -sorry, actually.”

“ _Ned!_ ”

“What! You started it!” he cackles, laying back on his couch.

(Say, when did he sit back down? And when did it start raining outside?)

“ _Well, hey,_ ” Betty says, the last traces of howling laughter fading into the distance. “ _I’ve got a lead I need to follow, and I only have a thirty-minute window for it…_ ”

“Oh,” Ned says, swallowing. “Oh, yeah, no, I’ll catch ya later.”

“ _Yeah, feel free to call. Like how friends do._ ”

“Like—yeah, def, ha—uh, dude.”

“ _Please, MJ calls me bruh on the daily._ ”

“Bruh.”  _Snicker._ “Betty Bruh.”

“… _Right, on that note, hanging up._ ”

“ _Haha!_ But—wait, hey, Friday, the 23rd?”

He can practically hear her smile. “ _Wouldn’t miss it, Leeds._ ”

_Click!_

* * *

The weeks pass in silent agitation, and it kills Ned that he, somehow, has decided, against all of his better judgment, _to not tell his friends._

(Not Betty. His other friends. Friends who _know_ Betty.

Like.

Peter.

Or MJ.

Y’know.

 _Friends_.)

Two weeks are filled with him staring at his screen at work, adjusting calculations and tweaking code until 6PM rolls around and he’s free to commute home with even less distractions.

Two weeks of him noticing Brad glance over during lunch hours, but not in a mean way—or, like, he isn’t  _sure_ it’s mean, because there’s no _High School Scowling_ going on, but there’s still some _faces thrown his way, so who knows?_

Two weeks of zoning out when MJ tries to initiate a Wit War, and trying to shrug it off as work exhaustion when he loses before it even starts.

Of sending Betty the press packet for _Kapwa_ —they’d settled on the name in two hours—and sporadic conversations about the watch’s functionality and design.

Of dodging Peter’s lowkey digging questions at _every turn._

Two weeks.

Two long, agonizing, sweat-inducing weeks.

And when Friday the 23rd comes, Ned, of course, remembers why he tells his friends things.

“ _Wassup, Needs?_ ”

“Is that a new one?”

“ _I’m workshopping it._ ”

“I don’t have nice shirts.”

“ _So? It’s just Pepper and some suits. You don’t need a fancy_ —”

“Betty’s going.”

“… _What._ ”

“Betty’s going to the meeting,” Ned repeats, staring down at his bland ties to escape reality.

MJ _curses_ , and the phone gets shuffled around.

“…Uh, M? M1? Hello?”

“ _You—_ yeah, I know, but I have to finish my draft— _Ned?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _You got a couple hours, right?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Peter’s_ — bye, love you, don’t hit a cat again _—Peter’son his way, get ready to shop faster than for the prom._ ”

“ _Bro_. Foul ball.”

“ _You know I don’t care about sports metaphors._ ”

“ _MJ._ ”

“ _Just get ready_ ,” she huffs, “ _and this is the first and last time I’ll ever say this, but if you don’t bring your Stetson, I’m disowning you._ ”

“Ha! You wouldn’t. I cook for you.”

“ _A sacrifice I’ll have to make. Bye._ ”

“Later, love you!”

“ _Do not mess this up, Nedaniel._ ”

“‘ _Love you too, my favorite person ever after Peter Parker, but also even over him_ —’”

_Click._

Ned snorts. “Rude.”

* * *

(He brings the Stetson.)

* * *

“—and it works well with recycled materials,” Betty says, changing the slide to show possible construction choices.

“She’s amazing,” Pepper whispers to Ned, off to the side of the projection lights. There’s a hidden smile there, and a little bit of a push.

“I know,” Ned whispers back, eyes catching Betty’s for the briefest moment.

The corners of her lips tug up.

And the light definitely catches it.

“We expect to deliver varying packages,” Ned says to the executives, stepping in with his Office Voice. “All walks of life connected to a basic-use computer they can take anywhere and customize for themselves. Raise literacy in underdeveloped areas, and teach basic life and computer skills with the included Database App—”

“—which has pledged archive donations from top universities and tradespeople,” Betty adds, smile proud as she addresses the room.

 _Click_. “And that’s the _Kapwa_ Watch,” Ned concludes with his arms out as the lights turn back on. “Any questions?”

* * *

“I’ve got one,” Betty says after they leave the meeting, waiting side-by-side in front of Pepper’s office door.

“Hmm?” Ned asks, two bites into his spam sandwich.

“A question. How’d you get all those pledges together?” she asks, smirking lightly. “Harvard? Princeton? Are you secretly a politician’s son?”

 _Shrug_. “Shuri pulled some strings.”

 _Whistle_.

“She’s a resource,” Ned says, rolling his eyes. “And she _did_ say to call _any_ time.”

“Whoa- _hoh_ ,” Betty says, half-biting back a smile. “Peter must’ve given you hell for that one.”

“You have no idea.”

“So big-time connections and a burgeoning career as a businessman-slash-inventor…” she says, nodding and looking down the hall. “It really has been too long.”

Ned tilts his head at her, curious. “Why? ‘Cause I grew up?”

She bumps his shoulder with her own. “Please. You were plenty grown up. Just…” _Sigh_. “…I missed a lot. And that’s pretty lame.”

“Bets, careful—you’re starting to sound like my mom.”

“ _Oof_ , and I have the pearls to match. Maybe in another life I’m a short Asian lady who cooks well.”

Ned juts out his lips. “So, two-outta-four—”

“Rude!” Betty says, smacking his forearm.

“I meant the ‘lady’ and ‘cooks well’!” Ned laughs, hands up. “ _Obviously!_ ”

“You are a terrible liar.”

“Please, that would be insulting to my mentor, Michelle Jones.”

“MJ can’t teach those who can’t be taught…” Betty sing-songs, leaning away when Ned takes his turn to lightly swat at her arm.

 _Tsk!_ “From a debutante…shameful…”

 _Laugh!_ “Oho—you _low hitter_ —”

“Ned? Betty?”

It’s a freeze-frame of two laughing fits in a sleek office hallway, a slender plant to one side and a glass wall on the other.

It’s a tall woman in business attire with a still-sparkling engagement ring and still-shining wedding band, amused at the view from outside her office door—of two who _once were_ and who _might be_.

It’s reality, sucking them back to the sunshine and clear, purple sky.

And to a contract bound in leather, marked with their names and more zeroes than an average worker tends to earn.

“Congratulations,” Pepper says, that million-(read: billion-)dollar smile wrinkling her eyes. “And welcome to Stark Industries.”

* * *

_Are you doing anything tomorrow night?_

_Or tonight?_

_Are you free?_

_Do you wanna get dinner, maybe?_

It’s barely eight and he isn’t hungry, but they’re about three-quarters of the way down from the top, and he doesn’t want her to leave.

Not yet.

(Not _again_.)

_Ding!_

(Stupid fast elevators.)

“After you,” Ned says with a lopsided smile, holding the door open for the only other passenger with him.

“Save those moves for your girlfriend, Leeds,” Betty teases, walking out with a smirk and a queen’s grace.

He almost stumbles when he catches up to her. “Don’t have one.”

“Pff. Okay.”

“I’m serious!” Ned laughs.

Does he know why he’s laughing?

Not entirely.

He’s got charm for years, of course, and any dates he’s been on since graduating from Midtown have gone average or better, but dang—does she really have no clue?

That he’s never gotten over her enough to go on a second date?

(And MJ, obviously, is a champ at secrets, but she’s a big nudge-nudge-wink-wink person in her own—weird, so very, very weird—way.

She would’ve clued Betty in if given the opportunity, and Peter would’ve snuck into that conversation to make it _extra clear_ if he was within earshot.)

(And he’s _always_ within earshot.)

(Stupid Spidey powers.)

“Not recently?” Betty asks, raising a brow.

They’re five feet from the door.

“Nope.”

“Like, ever?”

“That’s a trick question,” Ned pouts, walking in step with her as they pass the automatic doors. “ _You_ were my girlfriend, so not _ever_.”

“Hmm,” Betty hums, chewing the inside of her cheek. She looks up at the building across. “So I was.”

She frowns a little—contemplative, if old habits die hard. Something shines in her eyes as the moon catches them, reflecting the sun from the other side of the world.

She clears her throat, and faces him. “Ned, I—”

_BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!_

_This is a joke and Flash is the worst_ , Ned thinks, frowning immediately at his wrist.

The one with the emergency band.

Connected to Spidey Squad alerts.

He’s gonna kill Flash if this is a false alarm.

“Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” Betty says, turning him by his shoulders, back to the Stark Tower. “We can talk later.”

Ned grins back as he jogs inside.

He doesn’t say anything as the glass doors close behind him.

But he waves.

And man, her smile could keep him at a hundred just by itself.

 _Click_ , and a nanotech earpiece shows itself, and Ned puts it on. “Talk to me,” he says when the elevator’s almost to the top.

“ _Mutated weirdo—on the 7–just passed into—Manhattan,_ ” Flash says, out of breath.

“ _Did you actually try the cardio workout I sent you?_ ” MJ’s voice comes in, laugh stifled. “ _Because that was a joke. Don’t die_.”

“ _I just—got to the—station—runningisforplebs_ ,” Flash says.

“ _Stay up, Flash_ ,” Peter says, laughing. “ _Karen, ETA?_ ”

“ _How was the meeting, Ned?_ ” MJ asks, filling the lull as Peter chats with his suit’s AI. “ _Oh, sorry—I meant how was the date, Best Friend Who Lied To Me?_ ”

“ _—And Me,_ ” Peter has the audacity to add before returning to his AI conversation.

“ _Wait, Leeds had a date?_ ” Flash asks.

“Sound more surprised, I dare you,” Ned says, annoyed. Out of the elevator and speedwalking off to Pepper’s office, and a _knockknockknock_ to say, “Hey, sorry, we have an—”

“I know, Happy’s on his way,” Pepper says, stepping aside to let him in. _Shut_. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., convert, please.”

“ _Sure thing, boss._ ”

A low _hum_ as the table switches from an office desk to a control hub, projected screens pulling up feeds from all around the 7 train’s route.

“ _He’s underground,_ ” Flash says.

“ _Where do you think the 7 goes when it hits the city?_ ” MJ says.

“ _C’mon, MJ—you know he’s too rich to take the subway,_ ” Peter snickers.

“Connecting you guys to FRIDAY,” Ned says, scanning his band on a small console. “And—live. Say hi to Pepper.”

“ _Hiya,_ ” they all say, but only MJ adds, “ _So how was his date?_ ”

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Pepper says offhandedly, flicking through screens. “…That’s not good.”

Ned squints, following the images. “That’s—”

“ _Headed your way_ ,” Flash says.

They hear MJ, backed off from her mic. “ _Happy, ETA?_ ”

“ _Oh, this guy_ definitely _eats four dozen eggs every morning,_ ” Peter quips, his marker placing him somewhere in the subway’s tunnels. “ _Hey, Gaston! Did you know you look like the Beast? You really let yourself g—_ ohcrapohno _—that’s not very nice, sir! I have a strict no handholding policy on the first date!_ ”

“Is that true?” Ned snorts, typing in a frenzy.

“ _Pff. No_ ,” MJ says, and he hears the creak of their old computer chair. “ _Happy’s almost there._ ”

“To Pete?”

“ _To you._ ”

“Send him to—”

“ _Godzilla’s got internal GPS or something—redirects aren’t working, he’s still going to pass you. Get out and clear off a couple blocks—foundation’s gonna take a hit._ ”

“Oh, hell,” Pepper says, shaking her head as she presses her necklace. F.R.I.D.A.Y. beeps. “…Rescue it is.” She turns to Ned. “No fire alarms, but get everyone off the building.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ned salutes, returning his comm to his ear. “Should be clear soon, not a lot of people left in the building.”

Pepper nods. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

(Outside, a blue streak zooms into view.)

“Goodluck,” Ned says.

Pepper smiles. “ _Showtime_.”

* * *

Maybe if the custodian skipped work that day.

Or maybe if the dude had moved a little faster.

Maybe this wouldn’t be happening.

Maybe they wouldn't be three-for-three for the ol’ _Almost Died! Don’t Recommend!_ club.

…Well, that’s _optimistic_ , given the situation, but that’s Ned Leeds for ya.

Stuck in an underground garage with all its entrances collapsed and fire and smoke all around.

“ _Ned—you—hear—?_ ”

“No,” he grumbles, eyes drooping. Something—his…brain?—registers it as MJ’s voice, but all else clips out.

Hmm.

He’s gonna need to raincheck on that talk with Betty.

And dinner with his parents tomorrow.

And his nephew’s birthday party next week.

“ _Pepper—on—way, stay—okay?_ ”

Wow, bad reception down here.

They’re gonna have to fix that.

“Love…you…guys,” he says, wondering why it’s so slow.

Oh, and he’s coughing?

Boy, this better not bring back his childhood asthma.

Inhalers every day = _no bueno_.

When the world goes dim, he doesn’t need a good connection to know his friends are yelling his name.

It’s like a chant, really.

A distressed lullaby.

And blue and red and black are there when nothingness takes over.

* * *

_Am I dead?_

_No._

_…Who are you?_

_You._

_Dude, you’re_ way _too calm to be me._

_Someone has to be._

_So, I’m—we—us—you and me—_

_You. Just you._

_Okay…I…I’m not dead?_

_No._

_Am I going to be?_

_Hmm. That depends._

_Uh. On?_

_On if they got to you in time._

* * *

_It’s been a while._

_Not really._

_Why are you so grouchy?_

_Well, you inhaled a lot of dark smoke back there. Wouldn’t you be, if someone started smoking up your entire apartment?_

_Bro. Me. Dude. That was literally me._

_Exactly._

_You make NO SENSE!_

_You’re delusional._

_No, YOU are!_

_I_ am _you._

_You—ugh. I need coffee._

_No. You need to wake up._

_I’m_ trying _!_

_I told you, it’s not up to you. It’s up to them._

_Aren’t comatose people supposed to be able to hear things?_

_Probably._

_So why can’t I hear anyone?!_

_Dunno._

_…You suck._

_Eh._

_Buh. MJ got the better coma experience…_

* * *

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

 _Breathe_.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

 _Breathe_.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Fou—

“I need some air,” Peter says, standing up. His fingers twitch, legs shake.

The hand attached to his wife’s keeps him close. “Be smart,” MJ says.

 _Nod_.

 _Squeeze_. “I love you.”

Peter leans in, kisses the top of her head. “I love you, too. Call me if anything…yeah.”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s her turn to exhale when he leaves.

She frowns, one-sided, like maybe being disappointed in Ned will make him wake up.

His monitors beep back steadily, mocking her.

“Yeah, screw you, too,” MJ mumbles, slumping back into her chair. She puffs air up at her bangs noncommittally, lazy glare still fixed on Ned and all the IVs attached to him even when they fall back down.

Outside, she hears footsteps.

Beside her, Flash snores lightly, curled up except for one awkwardly outstretched leg.

 _Hmm_.

Not light enough to be Ned’s parents, not glide-like enough to be Peter’s, not heels, so Pepper’s out, and not speedy like May—

“Betty,” she says, monotone as her friend stops at the other side of the door. “Come in.”

The door cracks open, an inch from the lock. “…How’d you know it was me?” Betty asks, hair tied up in a messy—for her, anyway—ponytail.

Something on her ears catches MJ’s eye. “Knew I didn’t imagine you wearing those to those big meetings,” MJ says, nodding at Betty. “And, deductive reasoning.”

“Nice work, Sherlock.”

 _Shrug_. “Guess I should keep trying to get that beehive installed.”

“That _has_ to need a license,” Betty says, taking the seat on MJ’s free side. She glances quickly at the bed and back again. “Anything I should know?”

MJ exhales, long and tired. “Lots of smoke. Minimal burns, mostly, but he’s gonna have a scar on his back where the fire got him.”

_Memorize. Recite. Repeat._

“He should be awake,” she continues, eyes focused and unfocused all at once. She grips her armrests. “The doctors did everything right. He’s stable. He  _should_ be awake.”

“MJ…”

“…Sorry, it’s just—”

Betty smirks. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize.”

“I apologize plenty,” MJ says, rolling her eyes. “…Just mostly to May.”

“Thought you’d say ‘Peter’.”

“Eh, far second.”

“Since when do you apologize for feelings, anyway, Ms. _Kissed A Boy Two Seconds After The Multiverse Rift Brought Him Back_?”

“That’s _Mrs_., to you, BB.”

“He’ll be fine, is all I’m saying.”

MJ snaps to her, eyes locked and not letting go. “So, Bets…” she says slowly, brows creased slightly. “…why won’t you look at him?”

* * *

_Okay, I totally won that round._

_No, you didn’t._

_Yes, I totally_ did _! Check the score. I did._ Check _it, I_ dare _you._

_Hmm. Nope. Doesn’t look like you did._

_I always win_ Pictionary _when MJ isn’t playing! How did I not win, huh?_

 _Because you’re playing against_ me. And I _always win, if MJ isn’t playing._

 _SO_ I _WIN._

 _No,_ I _win. Keep up._

_WE’RE THE SAME PERSON, BRAIN._

_Ned, 0. Ned’s Brain, 1._

UGHHHHH.

* * *

Flash pouts.

“No,” Betty repeats.

“ _But_ —”

 _Glare._ “I still have your mom on speed dial, Thompson.”

“Betty, _c’mon_ ,” Flash whines, head thrown back just like his five-year-old self. “We’re friends now! Friends draw on friends’ faces when they’re in comas!”

“…Listen to the words that just left your mouth.”

“Peter did it! _MJ_ did it!” Flash says, groaning in annoyance. “It’s a rite of passage, Brant.”

Betty frowns harder. “You really expect me to believe that Ned wouldn’t mind you _drawing on his fac_ —”

“Oh, good, I don’t have to buy the Sharpies,” Peter says, stepping into the room. He looks between his friends, watching Betty blink back in surprise.

“… _What?_ ” she says.

Flash tosses Peter one of the markers, all while cocking a brow at Betty. “See? _Rite of passage_.”

“It’s messed up,” Peter says, spinning the marker between his fingers, “but it works when you need to not think about mortality and medical percentages.”

MJ peeks her head into the doorway. “Is it time?”

“You’re kidding,” Betty deadpans.

“I never kid about Coma Doodle Hour.” _Smirk_. “Also, Morgan’s coming tonight, and unless you want her to join in, too…you better let the _adults_ do the roasting.”

“…In this moment, you guys are only adults in years of life.”

“Glad to see you agree,” Flash grins, patting her shoulder. He walks past, stopping by Ned’s bed and waving a marker in her direction. “Last call, Brant.”

“The doctors must hate you,” Betty says, taking the marker.

Flash uncaps it for her. “And now they’ll hate you, too.”

* * *

It takes MJ and Flash an hour and a half to cover one side of Ned’s face with a maze full of false exits and ladder detours. An extra exit branches off to Peter’s side—a crude drawing of Ned as a superhero saving turtles, hat an essential part of his costume.

Betty finds she can’t do much else than help the others, but when the hour and a half are up and her friends step away for a snack break, she finds a spot under Ned’s bangs, on the left side of his face.

And it takes a minute, adjusting.

Remembering everything.

Remembering what matters.

And if, when Peter comes back first, an extra black coffee ready and handed to her, he doesn’t say anything about the little snowflake she tries to cover up _immediately_ , well.

He always was respectful of secrets.

“You need a nap,” Peter says, when she’s taken more than three sips.

“You need to go save a cat,” Betty says, rotating to the window seat. Down to the table goes her cup, off and to the side. “It’s a nice Saturday.”

“Yeah.”

“We used to hang out on Saturdays a lot. The five of us.”

“We used to mess up a lot of Flash’s white shirts, too,” Peter smirks, checking his phone and stepping back out. “You want anything else? Me and MJ are gonna get a mountain of Wendy’s chicken nuggets in case Ned wakes up soon.”

Betty _guffaws_. “Sending him straight back into a coma is a _terrible_ idea.”

“Hey,” Peter says, shrugging, “it would be how he’d wanna go.”

“I see the death humor hasn’t let up.”

“Dude. You’re there when I come into work with a black eye—you know MJ makes gravestone jokes _all the time_.”

“You were awake, Peter.”

He makes a face. “I was in pain, Betty.”

“Get going, weirdo,” she laughs, waving him off. “I’ll call you guys if anything changes.”

Peter grins. “Try to remember to. When I was out for a few days, May _and_ MJ forgot to call Ned after I woke up.”

* * *

_What’s the date today?_

_Dunno._

_C’mon. How many seconds since everything went black?_

_Not sure. You weren’t talking to me right after it happened, so I can’t guess accurately anyway._

_Downer._

_Your fault._

_What?_ Why _?!_

You _put us in a coma, buddy._

_I was saving the custodian!_

_Well, congrats. Go back to sleep._

_I_ am _asle—_

_Lalalalalalalala—_

_FINE._

* * *

_Poke_.

“Hrm?” Betty whines, uncurling.

Note to self: window seating area? Painful for back.

Very painful.

Do not sleep on ever again.

“You were snoring,” Flash says quietly, seat brought up close to her. He’s looking at Ned, watching the monitors in their steady state, and glances at the visitors and friends on the other end of the room, lined up as they nap one over the other. He nods at the teen beside MJ. “Almost woke up Morgan.”

“Oh,” Betty says, sitting up. She leans on the column by her seat, side to side with Flash. “Sorry. How is he?” she asks, rubbing her temples.

“You still love him,” Flash says simple and lax, lounging back.

She straightens. “I—”

“Don’t deny it, Brant.”

“—shut up, Thompson,” she sighs, slumping her shoulders. “What do you care?”

“Five years is a long time,” he says, pursing his lips. “We mess with each other, but we’re friends now. Ned’s…cool. Smart. And I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Betty bites the inside of her cheek.

Suddenly, the ground seems very interesting.

“You know, when I went to Stanford,” she starts, in a lower volume than what Flash had started with, “I thought—like an _idiot_ —that it wasn’t going to last. And I didn’t—” _Sigh_. “—I didn’t want it to end badly. I wanted us to be in a good place. And Flash…” _Curse_. “Summer before college? Best time of my life.”

Flash nods subtly.

 _Continue_.

She clears her throat. “Better than graduation. Better than getting my first published piece.”

“Better than sticking it to Jameson?”

“You heard about that?”

“B, Peter would _not_ shut up about it, and MJ _egged him on_ ,” Flash says, laughing lightly. “Never in front of Ned, though. Not until a month later.”

“Aw, Flash. You’re a softie,” Betty says, nudging his shoulder. “Knew the kid with the rotting teddy bear was still in there somewhere.”

“I’m not gonna get distracted,” he says, sobering. “MJ’s way better at that than you. I’ve been trained.”

Sleeping sounds and electronic beeps crescendo and decrescendo all around the room, but it doesn’t stop the world from shutting down into a deafening silence.

The light’s faint; green and blue and dim white reflects of skin of all shades and hair of all colors, bouncing and lying mostly still on the white walls.

Betty looks up, finally.

Up at the hands she used to hold.

The face she used to kiss.

The heart of a boy she fell for a long time ago—by accident, and by fate.

“He made it better than everything else,” she says, throat dry and eyes watering. The corners of her lips twitch as she fights for control. “I didn’t think it was—I didn’t _know_. I didn’t know it _wouldn’t_ fade. I just—I thought it was a high school relationship, and I messed it up. _I_ messed it up.”

“You had that date, though.”

“What, the meeting?” Betty scoffs, coughing to keep her throat from closing up. “The worst part—the _worst part_ —was I almost told him after, and I let him go back to the building, and now—”

“So you’ll fix it,” Flash says, sitting up. “When he wakes up, you’ll figure it out, and you’ll fix it.”

She hears what he doesn’t want to say.

_If he ever does._

* * *

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

One.

Two.

Three.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

_Inhale._

“Monday tomorrow,” MJ says.

She’s on the window seat this time, sketchbook open to a mostly blank page. Random corners have dark scrawls—repeated warm-up circles and eights, one over the other and over another.

(She has enough drawings of Ned from the second day, when she’d calmed down a little bit, but now her head’s starting up the Stress Train yet again, and she’s _not_ about it.)

“I’m off ’til Wed,” Betty says, the seat directly beside Ned’s bed finally claimed.

MJ raises her brows, but stays otherwise blank. “When did _that_ happen?”

“When I thought he was gonna wake up yesterday.”

“You think you can extend it?”

“Probably.”

(The room’s clear of anyone else; only the two stubborn ladies with not enough motivation to eat breakfast stayed behind to watch their team’s watchdog.

It feels a lot like a long time ago.

A lot like a different life.)

“I wonder if fairytales have any basis,” MJ says—blurts, really—a little louder than necessary.

Betty shrugs, a hand combing through Ned’s bangs, fixing their place.

MJ closes her eyes, rubbing her temples. “Betty.”

“Mnh?” she responds, still distracted.

“Kiss him.”

 _Blink. Spin._ “…You didn’t just _seriously_ suggest that.”

“Not on the _lips_ ,” MJ says, frowning and tilting her head. “Like, his cheek. Or his forehead.”

Betty gapes.

“Don’t look at me like that. _I’m not insane._ It works on Pete.”

“A total of how many times?”

“Like, four.”

“Of?”

“Five.”

“Forgive me for not buying that Peter’s only been KO’d _five times_.”

“ _Plenty_ more,” MJ says, the smallest smirk on her lips. “But I only tried it five times.”

Betty sighs. _Heavily_. “I’m not saying I’m considering it—”

“Yes, actually—that’s you considering it.”

“—but I really wish he was awake,” Betty says, ignoring her friend. “Or could respond, at least. Somehow. I don’t even know if he can hear us.”

“And if he has?” MJ says, voice even. “What do you think would be different?”

“MJ, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“If he could hear you,” she continues, her piercing stare directed at Betty, “what would you say?”

* * *

_Hey, Brain?_

_…_

_Hello?_

_…_

_Hey, what’s that noise?_

_…_

_Dude?_

_…_

_Me?_

…

* * *

“I don’t know.”

* * *

_What don’t you know?_

* * *

“You’re smarter than that, Betty.”

* * *

… _Betty?_

* * *

“What do you want me to say, MJ? That I’m still in love with him?”

* * *

_Brain? Brain??? I think we need to get up_ now _, dude! Missing something_ muuucho _importante!_

* * *

“Only if it’s the truth.”

* * *

_BRAIN!!!_

* * *

“…It is. I am. You know I am.”

* * *

_WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP—_

* * *

“Wasn’t hard, eh?”

* * *

_JUST ONE EYE. JUST OPEN ONE EYE!!!_

* * *

“You’re the worst best person I’ve ever met.”

* * *

_PLEASE._

* * *

“… _Um_. Was that.”

* * *

“ _Hnn…_ ”

* * *

“…Ned?” Betty asks, turning swiftly around.

MJ’s mouth forms a small “O”, and reality sets in in two seconds.

She’s out the door before Betty can register her own laughter, disbelief and joy and relief crashing in tidal waves.

Ned’s left eye cracks open.

And Betty says: “Hey, Leeds. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

* * *

It takes a couple tries.

A couple mismatched schedules.

A few months of PT.

 _Loads_ of handholding and phone calls and texts and sweet little notes left in cars and on notebooks.

It takes some time, and a lotta love.

But it’s building off memories—building off heart and soul and experience.

It’s capsizing on purpose, back into that wild ocean during the most spectacular of storms—deeper and deeper as it takes over everything all over again, the way you knew it would.

The way you wished it _did_.

It’s on and on until right after a birthday and right before an anniversary, in a backyard with snow falling down just like the day a certain boy had first known, in the grander scheme of his life, that a certain girl would have his heart forever.

It’s a question and an answer, and similar ones just three months later.

And hey, don’t forget:

It’s a watch meant to bring people together.

And a word that speaks to a bond between family and found family.

And the people it’s about being there with them, on that day.

It’s a lot of happy tears.

A whole lot more laughs.

A ton of food.

An _insane_ amount of dancing.

Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t all that hard.

It was just a couple of tries.

Like riding a bike.

 

**Author's Note:**

> lalalalalala
> 
> love ya peeps, God bless <3 you know where to find me!


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